


untitled (daddy's home)

by star_sky_earth



Series: tumblr fics [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Humiliation, Past Underage, Pseudo-Incest, slight cuckolding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_sky_earth/pseuds/star_sky_earth
Summary: Marcus needs to understand the reality of what he’s done, the magnitude of his mistake in daring to break up with her.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Past Clarke Griffin/Marcus Kane
Series: tumblr fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583689
Comments: 11
Kudos: 161





	untitled (daddy's home)

**Author's Note:**

> Filthy Thanksgiving fic originally posted to tumblr.

“Pass the mashed potatoes?” Clarke asks, staring at Marcus across the Thanksgiving table. 

Her stepfather’s hands shake as he passes over the heavy dish, fumbling at the last moment so that Clarke rushes to catch it before it falls into the turkey.

“Oopsie daisie,” she says innocently. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

Marcus doesn’t answer, lips pressing together in a thin line as he stabs viciously at his turkey, fork scraping against the fine china.

He does look tired - there are dark shadows under his eyes, his skin more sallow than normal, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth more noticeable than normal, even with the ridiculous beard he’s grown since she went off to college.

More than tired. He looks old, Clarke thinks spitefully, smiling sweetly.

It’s not surprising that Marcus didn’t get much sleep last night. Not with all the noise that Clarke made, making sure that her stepfather knew exactly how much she was enjoying Bellamy pounding her through the mattress, headboard banging against the thin wall separating their two bedrooms.

Clarke delicately sips at her wine, turning to smile at her boyfriend, sat next to her at the table. Bellamy returns the smile, leaning back casually in his chair, big hand wrapping around her thigh under the table.

_“Bellamy. Oh, fuck, Bellamy, so good. I love your cock inside me.’_

Not the most original dirty talk, admittedly. But then again, dirty talk isn’t really her forte - Bellamy’s the champion in that department, and he’d been on best behaviour last night, valiantly biting his lip to keep quiet, mindful of that fact that their bedroom was next door to her parents. His eyes had widened almost comically as she’d mewled and whines beneath him, head tossing on the pillow, hips rising to meet each one of his punishing thrusts.

_“Oh god, I’m coming, Bellamy, oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”_

Clarke dabs at her mouth with a napkin to hide her smile.

“So, tell us more about you, Bellamy,” Abby says, smiling and oblivious. In contrast to her husband, she’s on good form, well rested and relaxed after nearly half a bottle of wine. “A PhD in ancient history? It must be fascinating.”

Of course her mom didn’t notice anything amiss last night. Abby Griffin hasn’t slept without a little pharmaceutical ‘helping hand’ since Clarke was a child - a fact that Marcus and Clarke used to use shamelessly to their advantage. Clarke can’t remember a single night in those two years before college when she hadn’t heard the soft pad of his footsteps on the landing, the slow creak of her bedroom door opening, yellow light slanting across the carpet from the hallway. His tentative voice, barely above a whisper.

_“Angel? Are you awake?”_

Always so tentative, always so unsure, his hands hovering over her body until sometimes she wanted to scream with frustration, put her hands over his own and just make him _touch her_ already.

Of course, that was before. Before her stepfather lost his nerve, breaking up with her just before she went to college, breaking down into pathetic tears as he whimpered about how much he loved her mother, how wrong he’d been to take advantage of Clarke, how he needed to do the ‘right thing’.

Coward. He’d never been anything much more than a convenience anyway, an easy fuck without even needing to leave the house. Uber Eats for cock, if you will.

She has someone so much better now. A man that actually deserves her, who understands her, who knows exactly what she needs. Bellamy, with his beautiful smile and his beautiful body and his beautiful, dirty mind.

Still, that doesn’t mean that Marcus is forgiven. He needs to understand the reality of what he’s done, the magnitude of his mistake in daring to break up with her.

He needs to know just how utterly and completely he’s been replaced.

Lost in her own thoughts, she doesn’t notice Bellamy’s gaze flickering between her and Marcus, the sharply thoughtful look in his eyes, his hand tightening around the stem of his wine glass.

She’s washing up when Bellamy’s arms suddenly wrap around her from behind, his mouth coming down to nip at her ear.

“Naughty girl,” he whispers, pressing forward with his hips so that she can feel his hard cock against her ass. “Does Abby know?”

Clarke shakes her head. In the next room her mom laughs, a high warbling sound that rings through the house.

“No? No, of course she doesn’t know, does she?” Clarke whimpers as Bellamy crowds her against the sink, his hands entwining with hers in the soapy water. Her head falls back against his shoulder, his breath soft on her neck. “She doesn’t know what a dirty little slut her daughter is. How desperate her daughter is for cock, that she’d fuck her own step-dad just to fill up the emptiness between her legs.”

Clarke gasps, wriggling back against his cock.

That’s what she likes about Bellamy, what first drew her to him. He’s always seen past the long blonde hair, the baby blue eyes, the perfect GPA. Unlike everyone else she’s ever fucked - unlike Marcus, who insisted on treating her like his little princess, who wasted endless amounts of both of their time on pointless guilt, so worried about corrupting his ‘angel’ - Bellamy knows exactly how she wants to be treated. Knows exactly what she needs, how much she’s always craved a firm guiding hand.

The same firm guiding hand that’s currently between her legs, rubbing at her clit through the soft cotton of her leggings. Clarke bites her lip, her hips rocking down into his hand.

“Clarke - “

She doesn’t turn around as Marcus steps into the kitchen, but she hears his steps falter, coming to a stop just inside the doorway.

“Yes?” Bellamy says mildly. He turns to look at Marcus, but his hand remains between her thighs, fingers still rubbing a slow circle into her clit. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut as her mouth opens on a silent moan.

There’s a pause, and she imagines Marcus’ shock, the look on his face as he processes the scene in front of him. She knows him well enough to know every stage of his reaction. Disbelief. Distress. Anger. Guilt. And then, repression.

“Just wondering if you two wanted to open another bottle of wine?” he asks, finally.

“Sounds good,” Bellamy agrees, one finger teasing at Clarke’s cunt, fleeting and frustrating pressure where she’s open and wet. Empty. “We’ll be through in a minute.”

More silence, and then Marcus leaves. Bellamy turns back to Clarke, hiding his grin against the side of her neck.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly enough, despite Marcus’ clear discomfort, the way that he keeps shifting on the couch, nervously fiddling with his wedding ring, twirling it round and round his finger. Clarke had forgotten what a bad liar he was, his tells both obvious and incredibly irritating, even when she was sixteen. He’s always been bad at compartmentalising.

“Well,” she says eventually, putting her wine glass down on the coffee table. She looks across at Bellamy, lounging on the couch, eyes dark and heavy lidded above the rim of his own wine glass. “I think it’s time for bed, huh sweetie?”

Bellamy nods, sitting up and downing what’s left of his wine before putting his glass on the table next to hers. “Okay sweetheart.” He stretches, arms raising high above his head, top rising to reveal the firm plane of his hard stomach. Clarke turns her head just in time to catch her mom staring at the exposed skin, a glazed look in her eyes, fingers absently playing with the stem of her wine glass.

Bellamy stands, offering Clarke his hand. She gracefully accepts, letting him pull her up, his hand laying heavy on her waist.

“I think we’ll turn in too,” her mom says. “It is late. Come on, darling.”

Marcus doesn’t even try to fight, Clarke notices with disdain, taking in his defeated expression with no small amount of pleasure.

“Goodnight,” she says to her mom. “Sleep well.”

She takes her time getting ready for bed. Carefully brushes her teeth for the dentist recommended two minutes, double cleanses her face, decides at the last moment to take a hot shower, luxuriously massaging body cream into every inch of her already soft skin.

How long does it take for a sleeping pill to kick in? Twenty, thirty minutes?

She leaves the bathroom and stands outside the master bedroom door, her ear pressed to the cool wood. She can hear the hum of the dehumidifier, the regular inhale of her mom’s breath, already lost to the deep and untroubled sleep of the drugged. The bed creaks quietly as Marcus shifts on the mattress.

Bellamy’s on her as soon as she steps into the bedroom, mouth hot and demanding on hers, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to deepen the kiss. Clarke moans, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoes as she presses herself desperately against him, her nails sharp on his neck. Her cunt throbs, and despite the shower she knows that she’s dripping wet, unbearably close to the edge, their encounter in the kitchen enough to whet her desire but not nearly enough to sate it.

Frantic, mindless, Clarke bites at Bellamy’s lip, and he hisses in pain, breaking the kiss, shoving her away. They stare at each other, wild eyed and panting, the twin rasp of their breath the only noise in the silent room.

Clarke swallows heavily, staring up at Bellamy with pleading eyes.

The tension draws tight between them, one long and breathless moment, and then, inevitably, it snaps. Bellamy takes a step forward, Clarke almost throwing herself back into his arms, their mouths meeting once again as they tear blindly at each other’s clothes. Clarke’s towel is the first thing to go, dropping to the floor with one yank of Bellamy’s big hand, and she’s just about to return the favour, hands tugging at the waistband of his boxers, when suddenly he picks her up, taking one step towards the bed before he throws her down.

Clarke lands with a bounce, the mattress protesting with a loud squeak.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks, not bothering to lower his voice. She nods, watching with wide eyes as he pulls down his boxers and kicks them off, hard cock springing up against his stomach. Casually he wraps his hand around it, giving himself a couple of easy, careless strokes. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me,” Clarke replies, head lifting to look him directly in the eye, unashamed. She smiles, quirking an eyebrow. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy reaches forward to cup her face with his other hand, running his thumb over her mouth. She bites at it. “Why do you want _me_ to fuck you?”

“Because you’re the best I’ve ever had.” Clarke makes sure to raise her voice, not wanting Marcus to miss a word. “Because no one compares to you.”

“That’s right, isn’t it baby?” Bellamy smiles. “No one’s ever fucked you like I have, have they?”

Clarke shakes her head, pouting.

“No one else knows how to fuck you how you need, do they? Only me.”

“Only you.” She nods, biting her lip.

“Fuck.” Bellamy leans down to kiss her, Clarke raising onto her knees to meet him, whining when he pulls away again.

“Hands and knees, like a good girl for daddy.”

Clarke feels like she’s been slapped. Bellamy’s never used that word before, never even hinted at using it, and she’s not prepared for her reaction to it, the sound of her own pounding heartbeat almost deafening.

She wonders what Marcus is thinking. He’d been so careful, when he married her mom, to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to replace her dad. Never asked her to call him anything but Marcus, never once mentioned adoption or changing her name. She thinks that was one of the ways that he justified it to himself, when they started fucking. The one line that he never crossed, the final, ultimate sin that he never had the courage to commit.

What is he thinking now, lying in his lonely bed one room over, listening in to Clarke calling another man daddy? What does he feel, knowing that he’s been not just replaced, but surpassed? That another, better man has come in and so easily taken on the role that he was too scared to even admit he wanted?

“Hands and knees,” Bellamy prompts her, patiently.

Clarke obediently gets into position, making sure to tilt her hips up, letting Bellamy see exactly how much she needs him.

“Fuck,” Bellamy says again, voice hoarse. “Look at that.”

Clarke hears the slap before she feels it - Bellamy’s large palm coming down on her ass with a loud crack that reverberates through the room, loud enough to carry into the next room, the sound unmistakable. She barely feels the pain, adrenalin coursing through her system, only registering the warmth of his hand as he rubs comfortingly at her skin.

“Such a beautiful pussy.” Gently Bellamy urges her forward up the bed, the mattress creaking again as he gets up on his knees behind her. “Whose pussy is this?”

Clarke bites her lip. “Yours.”

“Answer me properly, baby.” Clarke feels Bellamy’s cock nudging against her cunt, teasing her briefly before he pulls away. She wants to scream with frustration. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

This, she knows the answer to. And, after tonight, Marcus will know the answer too.

“It belongs to Daddy.”

She’s rewarded instantly, Bellamy’s cock pushing all the way into her in one smooth move as she cries out, falling to her elbows. He gives her no time to recover, setting a hard pace that makes her wail, his cock slamming into her G-spot, her hands shaking on the mattress as she tries to hold herself up.

“Is this what you wanted?” Bellamy grits out, his hands tight on her hips, holding her in place as he fucks her. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Clarke gasps. She keens at a particularly hard thrust, the overwhelming pleasure that dances on the very edge of pain. “Yes, daddy, please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” Bellamy leans over her, his chest tight to her back, his hips stilling, cock deep inside her but not moving. “Tell me.”

“Please, fuck me,” Clarke moans. “Fuck me, just _fuck me_ , please.” She rolls her hips against him, trying to get him to move, almost sobbing with relief when he straightens back up, hands clamping down on her hips once more.

This time she does scream.

Already so close to the edge, it’s only seconds before she’s coming, arms threatening to give way beneath her completely as every nerve in her body short circuits. It’s rare that she comes without any stimulation on her clit, and it’s always a surprise, all the more overwhelming for how unexpected it is.

“Bellamy,” she cries out. “Daddy!”

It’s hard to tell, with her entire body both exploding and imploding at the same time, not entirely sure if she still exists in physical time and space, but somewhere in the depth of her orgasm, she thinks she hears a noise from the next room. A groan maybe, or a whimper, some kind of strangled thing that could be pleasure or pain, or both at the same time.

Marcus did always make the weirdest sounds when he came.

Bellamy only lasts a couple more thrusts before he’s coming too, his fingers digging into her skin as his hips jerk against hers. He doesn’t say anything when he comes, just lets out a long low exhale, Clarke feeling his cum flood into her a moment later. Once again, he lays himself across her back, her forehead coming to rest on the. back of her neck, but this time her strength fails her, both of them falling to the mattress.

It’s a while before either of them can move, but eventually Bellamy manages to peel himself off her, carefully pulling out as she hisses at the sudden movement.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, kissing her shoulder. “You okay?”

Clarke sleepily nods into the pillow. She’s not just okay. She’s _amazing_. She’s just had the best orgasm of her life. She’s won. She’s…

She’s already looking forward to seeing Marcus at breakfast tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> For more, come follow me on tumblr at star-sky-earth.tumblr.com <3


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